Whisper in the Wind
by Hymntanra
Summary: Jack Frost didn't know why he followed a seven year old girl around, not really. He just did. Angstfic.


**The story you are about to read is NOT yours to take, rewrite, and claim as your own idea. After four instances of plagiarism related to my fanfiction, I am now obligated to place this on every one of my written works. I have given readers fair warning over and over again but it seems that unless I put it straight in your faces, you will not listen. If you ask my permission, fine! But if not...**

**MY STORY IDEA IS NOT YOURS. DO NOT TAKE IT AND REWRITE IT.**

**Enjoy the story, please.**

Whisper in the Wind

He didn't understand it, not really.

People didn't notice him, so in return, Jack Frost tried to not notice people. And it usually worked—for the most part, they become playthings to amuse with his invisible abilities. Seeing them laugh, watching them look about in confusion when odd things happened…that was usually enough, for them to be the little friend to amuse. At one point, he convinced himself that he didn't WANT to be seen (a pledge that was as transparent and as delicate as rice paper). Jack admitted to himself that he could not be seen, and that he didn't need to be seen to exert his powers unto the people around him.

But then there was her.

Something about the little girl was so very different. She wasn't anything special, really, and she didn't last long either. The time period she lived in had not allowed for long periods of life. But the girl, this little thing named Rose…something about her made the invisible teen follow her around. She had long brown hair and big, dark brown eyes. Her figure was almost draped in clothing far too big for her, clothing that matched her hair color. But the one thing that Jack noticed most of all is that little Rose often looked very sad.

So sad, so lonely.

It bemused the boy. She was young, and she obviously had friends and family. But Rose seemed to be the odd one out. She never wanted to go out and do anything exciting, never wanted to experience the thrill of danger. Her fear of danger simply seemed to drive people to think she was snobbish but Jack knew better. The girl was simply afraid of everything—afraid of fire, afraid of lions lurking around the corner, and most notably, deadly fearful about ice. Rose would shy away from it like the water within planned to leap out and drag her down.

She liked frost on windows, though.

Jack had learned this about the little girl only a few months into his mildly absurd following of the child. He would press his hand against the window and watch the frost curl into intricate fern patterns. It would get Rose's attention almost immediately; she would wander over to the window as the patterns grew more and more intricate. The bright, young face would light up and she would actually giggle for once. It was endearing, and Jack felt like he had been meant to incite fun in this solidly sordid little child.

Rose grew older, and she grew wiser, and she began to grow out of her fears. By the time the girl was seventeen, she was a bit more rambunctious—but Jack knew well that Rose would never be like himself. Something just TOLD him that it just would never happen. He didn't know why he knew this, and he didn't know HOW he knew this. He just KNEW. And when truth came to be told, he was right—Rose was willing to go out and do things that were more exciting, with more of her newly found friends, but she would still be hesitant to do things that were too dangerous.

And she still continued to fear the snow and cold and ice, like a constant phobia.

Jack couldn't really understand why the girl hated ice so much. HE personally had a great love for it—the spirit had grown accustomed to his powers, and had embraced them with a strong affection. The ability to cast snow and ice fascinated him, and it usually amused the children. But the only time snow and ice amused Rose was when the soft fern patterns spread across the window in their lovely and dedicated detail. In any other instant, the growing girl would stay bundled up inside. Either that, or she'd sit in the corner of the porch.

Rose got married.

She got a new last name—for the life of him, Jack could not remember her maiden name—and was thus forth known as Rose Abigail Bennett. Her husband was a nice man, Jack supposed. He was a bit too stiff to be considered a friend of the fun-loving spirit, but a nice man. He treated Rose well, treated her lovingly, kissed the tears away when she cried. Jack hadn't initially approved, of course, because there was this odd underlying sensation of protectiveness…it wasn't a feeling that Jack could explain but it wasn't one he could act on either. It wasn't like the stiff but loving man could SEE him.

Children were born. Many children.

A girl. Two boys. The boys were twins. Jack looked at them, and wanted to play with them. But Rose was protective—she didn't want them out in the snow. Jack wanted to stomp his feet and complain about this. He had watched over Rose for almost all her life now and he deserved to be able to give her kids a fun snow day. But she seemed so scared of losing them that it was impossible for him to want to disobey her and trick her children into doing such a thing. They were so well behaved, anyways. Jack knew he would not have been able to trick them into doing something that disobeyed the wishes of their mother.

"It snowed today, mama." The littlest one, the little girl, would say as she made patterns on the window with her fingers. Crude ferns patterns that Jack had shown to her—after all, he had to allow himself SOME fun with Rose's children. They were well behaved but they also had a strong playful streak in them. "It snowed today. The wind spoke to me."

Rose looked up in confusion. "The wind…spoke to you?"

"Yes. It said Jack Frost." The girl said nonchalantly, returning to wiping her fingers across the window. Jack was stunned, frankly—certainly, he HAD offhandedly mentioned his name to the child, but she couldn't hear him. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps it's some sort of weird thing I'm named after? He turned questioningly to the girl he had been following around for God knows how long.

Tears were slipping down her face.

Jack was alarmed; what had he done?! Well, nothing, he supposed. It had been the daughter that had made the comment, and Rose couldn't see him or hear what he had to say. The little girl at the window was looking shocked at her tears—it was true to state that Rose did not cry much, least of all in front of her children. This had to be the first time…and even then, it was gone in an instant. Rose was completely composed. But Jack could see the weariness of years far beyond her within those sad brown eyes.

"It said Jack Frost, did it?" She said calmly. The daughter nodded uncertainly.

"Yes…it said Jack Frost, and that was it. That's all it said to me."

Maybe that's just a trend of things saying my name, Jack thought morosely.

"Nothing at all? Do you have any idea who this mysterious person is?" Rose pressed. She seemed to be getting aggravated, but the daughter didn't notice. She just shrugged.

"I don't know. I think, though, I think he has something to do with SNOW. Snow and ice." The small child said thoughtfully.

"Snow and ice?"

"Yes. Because when I heard his name in the wind, there was snow carried with it. And those frost ferns began to climb up the tree." The small child went on. Rose looked flabbergasted; no doubt the woman remembered that she had once seen those ferns, climbing delicately across the windows. "I think 'Jack Frost' is snow and ice. He MAKES the snow, mama. He IS the snow."

"That's silly, Annabel. I think you're just tired…I think you need to go to bed now, don't you? It's at least ten at night." Rose sounded extremely troubled; he voice betrayed her calm expression as she led the little girl into her room. Annabel followed obediently, but cast a brief glance back at the window where Jack was sitting and watching. The little blonde girl smiled, a mischievous smile that Jack knew he could mimic perfectly. It thoroughly bemused him HOW he could do such a feat, though. "Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight, mama."

With that, Rose collapsed by the window to stare right out at Jack's face. But the white haired spirit knew she couldn't see him; the brunette woman was simply looking straight through him as she picked up drawing her daughter's fern patterns. Her strokes were so intricate and delicate—all those years of being amused by them had taught her well. But the strokes became very sloppy in a short matter of time until her finger ran down the window to rest, unmoving, at the base of the frame. Soft tears fell on the wood below but no sobs emitted from her throat. Rose simply stared out into what she saw as a winter wonderland—or a winter nightmare, completely unaware of the pity being directed at her.

Several years later, at the age of thirty two, Rose died. It was not an unusually short lifespan for the time period but the woman had not gone in a pretty fashion. She had gotten horribly sick, and had been bedridden for several months. Jack stayed with the woman for all of those months, sitting and the end of the bed and praying that Rose would open her eyes and SEE him so that she could answer all those question he had. To tell him why she was so upset when she heard his name. To let him know why she feared and hated ice so much.

It never came.

She died quietly in her sleep.

And for the next three hundred years, Jack had no idea what to make of the events that had passed. The times that he had just spent watching over her, throwing snowballs at the bullies who picked on her. These memories inside his head that he could replay of cheering the girl up when she was tiny, drawing fern patterns with the speckled pen that was kept in the stu…

Jack halted.

He couldn't make heads or tails of what he had been thinking, but it was gone.

Until three hundred years later, when he found himself crouched in front of a ruining gravestone. He could barely see it, really. But he had to be there—even with Bunnymund and Tooth sitting behind him keeping their silence, Jack's head was yelling and screaming at him so loudly. Like something had gone so terribly WRONG. With a broken sigh, the white haired spirit dropped a few hazelnut candies on the soft soil in front of the stone.

"Did your sister like hazelnut candies?"

"…Yeah. She liked them a lot." Jack replied. "She'd eat them every day, and I'd buy her penny candies. Sometimes it wasn't hazelnut chocolate, so she wouldn't eat it. Even the smallest little marble would make my sister happy."

And not a single wind blew through the snowy meadow where they sat.


End file.
